


to live, I must burn

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Mentions of violence | bodily harm | torture, Post-Time Skip, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:09:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20577749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: and I don't know of any other way. | I uh, really wanted an outlet, and Edelgard came to mind. Sorry. Focusing on her thoughts on her past, her actions. Spoilers.





	to live, I must burn

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you get so frustrated you just let the words flow to try feel better as you project metaphors/symbolism/whatever onto a character, that sort of thing. that's what this is. implied edel -> byleth

She still screams during the night, in the privacy of the most luxurious room you can find in the whole of the Adrestian Empire. She still wakes in cold sweat, the flashes of blood still bright red behind the lids of her eyes. She sees the shadowy figures lovingly run blades over already scarred flesh, and the blood flows in gentle rivulets down ugly skin. The blood is unnaturally... _shiny_, she wants to say, but she can't speak. Her throat is dry, and what sounds she makes gets drowned by the chittering of rats.

She doesn't know if she screams in her dreams, or in real life. The distinction is blurred as she marches on. The heat gently licks her cheeks as the fires consume the dead, and Hubert has to gently motion her back. Embers dance in her eyes as she gazes at herself in the mirror, her visage somehow never getting so much as a scratch. It's as though the Goddess herself had decreed she bore enough upon her body and she could afford One whole generous gesture.

She paces the room, to get her bearings back. She is Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor. She opts to skirt the edges of the plush carpet set in the middle of the room, much rather preferring the cold stone under her feet. The eyes of the emblazoned eagles feel like they watch her constantly. She imagines them to be the eyes of the professor, equally sharp and piercing, and without ability to give her an answer.

The professor would be coming any day now, knocking on her door. There is a detached feeling, as though this could have been different, but this is her current reality. The portrait she drew lies under her pillow as she could not bear to rip it apart. An Edelgard gained a heart once, and she can't possibly throw it away. It is a reminder that she too, could have been human.

The Emperor doesn't want to be human. Being human meant the constant drowning, under expectations and unrequited feelings, and the weight of the task she chose to undertake. Perhaps she could take comfort in that she would not be long for this world, regardless. She could ask for one last wish to lose her life to that one person. That would be the best way to see to the end of this entire charade.

She is tired of waiting, and alas, her rush meant she would not see the result come to fruition. Is that irony? Five years of stalemate, and then with burst of energy, the war would end in her death. Her name would be reviled, in service of uniting the known world. She would gladly burn if it meant she would be remembered. Remember her, the girl who discarded everything, the one driven by her past, in her accursed attempt to bring a new dawn.

Her part in the story will end in bitter satisfaction, but it will end.

She will be able to sleep soon.

Her past will bind her no more, and she will have passed on her decree to the best successor she can find.

She can finally be herself, playing any part of Edelgard as she pleases, once her eyes close for one last time.

Until then, she will march on, bringing the flames of hell to the surface.

May she be the comet on which someone wishes upon. Burn her, remember her.

No one truly dies until their name is forgotten, so hate her. Love her.

She's not sure of who she is anymore, so put it down so that she can know.

It is with regret that she doesn't hear the professor speak for one last time, but she has already asked too much.

So, simply, thank you, and goodbye, dearest professor. Take her torch, and light the way for the tomorrow she will never see.


End file.
